–Dad: Is this a prank?
I let out a short laugh. Dad doesn’t read or answer his texts. That’s a job for his assistant, Joey the Toady. And Joey is wary. He thinks I’m fucking with him and doesn’t want to get into trouble with Dad.
It’s not surprising. Three of my brothers are married, and Dad did his best to crash all three weddings. He failed, of course, the last time having to flee in a helicopter that Grant assaulted with fireworks, mainly because my brothers wanted ceremonies that were romantic and dignified. You bring Dad into something, it’s going to be all abouthim. The great Ted Lasker, Hollywood legend, producer of blockbusters, God’s gift to the world, the man who never produced a flop in his long and storied career. No one knows how many celebrities owe him their stardom, and countless wannabe actors and models fawn over him, praying he’ll turn them into stars. He now honestly believes that he shits rainbows and pisses eau de toilette.
Exactlythe kind of guest I want at this farce of a wedding.
–Me: Nope. 100% legit.
–Dad: I didn’t know you were engaged.
Is Joey demanding to be convinced?
–Me: Well, I am. You wanna come or not?
–Dad: Of course! When and where?
–Me: I’ll let you know.
–Dad: You want cash or presents?
–Me: Your presence will be present enough.
For me.
Hopefully, Dad will bring his A-game and set a new record for packing embarrassment into the moment. When he first met Grant’s wife Aspen, he told her he’d cast her in a movie with lots of sex scenes with the actors of her choice. I’m counting on Dad to outdo himself with Lucienne.
That done, I pull up the new marketing plan on my laptop and shift gears. I scroll down the document, reading quickly. So far, so good, although…
I make a short comment within the document for Otto from marketing to address later in the day.
The intercom on my desk beeps.
“Sebastian, your fiancée is here.” Christoph’s voice is less certain than usual.
“Mywhat?”
“Fiancée…?” A slight pause, then an uncomfortable throat clearing. “Lucienne Peery.”
Guess she finally deigned to crawl out of her coke cave. “Don’t I have a meeting soon?”Say yes, Christoph!
“There’s, um, half an hour before the next one.”
I swallow a sigh. Sometimes he’s too honest. “Tell her I’m busy and she has to make an appointment to see me.”
“So next Tuesday? You’re free at eleven.”
“No. I’m not free on Tuesday. I’m not free on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday or Sunday. Or Monday. As a matter of fact, I’m never, ever going to be free.Not for her.”
“I can hear you,” comes a slightly amused female voice, smooth as aged whiskey. And like aged whiskey, it sends heat through my chest. “He put you on speaker.”
The heat is just anger pulsing under my ribcage. It’s doubly annoying that she sounds nothing like the shrill, grating harpy I imagined. She sounds sensual—slightly smoky, edged with cool confidence. I hate her for it, just like I’m irritated with myself for noticing.
“I don’t have an hour to waste,” I say flatly.
“It won’t take more than half an hour.”
“Fine.” I check my watch. She’s not getting a single second more.
